


.shooting stars.

by petroltogo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, College, F/M, Firsts, Love, Punk, Romance, shortstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-01 22:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 3,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5223599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petroltogo/pseuds/petroltogo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"the truth is, the stars are falling, babe"—troye sivan.</p><p>he’s inked words and she’s blank pages and together they are a battered book you have already read more often than you can count.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. .first impressions.

**Author's Note:**

> .shooting stars. is a short story [not regarding the amount of chapters but regarding their length] and will be updated daily.
> 
> it's a fanfiction and the plot is completely fictional as are my interpretations of louis tomlinson, harry styles and zayn malik. all of them are not famous in this universe.
> 
> lower case intended.

_he's a good for nothing, dead-end punk_. that's her first thought.

 _i'm a prejudiced, spoilt, little bitch_. that's her second thought.

 _this is all flynn's fault_. that's her third thought.

 

the thing is, she's right. lydia baker always is.


	2. .first sight.

she watches him from across the room because his laugh is louder than the music playing in the background. he is stretched out lazily across her favourite armchair, all  _relaxed_  and  _soft_  and  _pliant_  like spilled coffee on the first page of her notebook. he is acerbity resting on the most tender pillow, all  _sharp cheekbones_  and  _pointy chin_  and  _jagged edges peeking out from behind artfully ripped jeans_.

she thinks his thin lips are sharp enough to draw blood and there is a frozen quality in his smile that makes you believe its enough to disinfect the cut when it's really not.

he is  _inspiration_  and her fingers itch with the need to capture him, fill another blank page with endless words as her coffee loses its warmth and the daylight slowly dulls into  _moonshine_  and  _street lights_  and  _stardust_. to add her own words to the work of art written in black ink across his skin.

then he lifts his head, bright sunlight caught in his shaggy hair, and their gazes meet for nothing more than a second, frozen blue on muddied green, before she averts her gaze and takes a tasteless sip from her untouched cup of coffee.

it's short, a fraction of an endless moment, but. she sees stars burning out in those eyes.


	3. .first conversation.

"hi"

"bye."

"i'm louis."

"i'm not interested."


	4. .first invitation.

"hey, lydia! wait up!"

his voice pierces the noise of excited, laughing students, giggling girls and brawling boys effortlessly. she doesn't slow down for even a moment, knowing by now that his long legs are going to catch up with her anyway. she takes three steps before the familiar, worn down suspenders appear in her peripheral vision.

"jesus, girl, why do you keep pretending like you don't hear me?" she can hear the faintest traces of annoyance and humour lingering on the very top of the unspoken question mark like whipping cream on a hot chocolate during long winter nights.

"because i don't put my life on hold for anyone."

he laughs and she isn't sure if it's because he thinks she's joking or because he knows she's serious.

"listen, my mates and i are throwing a party this thursday. i want you to come."

his words surprise her although she isn't sure why.

"i don't think your party would be my scene." the excuse slips easily from her lips, coloured in the perfect shade of light pink because it is  _expected_.

he rolls his eyes and she watches as the smirk on his lips loses two shades of its lightness. "what are we, high school musical? just give it a try, okay? you can bring some of your polo wearing friends if that makes you feel better."

she can feel the first bubbles of amusement tickling the back of her mind even as her face contorts into an unimpressed scoff. "it's lacoste, actually."

"that wasn't a no." the words are coated in a thick layer of smug satisfaction that makes her want to smash every single letter with an iron baseball bat. she squashes the desire ruthlessly, surprised at the intensity of her own reaction.

"it wasn't a yes either."

"but it wasn't a no."

he grins and she averts her gaze because the light in his eyes is bright, too bright and no, that's  _not_  a yes.


	5. .first party.

the guy has dark, curly hair and wears nothing but a worn-out jeans and black ink. green eyes flicker over her and she is surprised how warm they are as they take in her crisp, white polo shirt and the shiny designer shoes. he smiles then as if in realisation and she can see fluttering butterflies forming in the dimples around his mouth.

"you must be lydia" he says with a tone of finality. there is a certain empathise on the 'lydia' instead of the 'must' she would have expected but his gaze refocuses on the person by her side and she remembers that she isn't alone.

so she nods a simple "yes" and gestures towards her companion for the night. "this is my friend flynn."

the guy stares at flynn for a moment, with less  _smile_  and more  _curiosity_  and then he pushes the door open a little wider. "well, it's nice to meet you guys. i'm harry. make yourself at home."

and before she even steps over the doorstep harry turns around and yells "louis, your girl's here!"

and she's not sure how he can possibly think louis is going to hear him with the music turned up so loud she can feel the floor vibrating under her feet but then flynn disappears into the crowd with a cheeky wink and suddenly there are arms thrown over her shoulder,  _warm_  and  _heavy_  and  _close_.

"lydi-a!" a voice mutters into her skin,  _familiar_  and  _too high_  and  _piercing_  even though she can't hear her own words. he smells like sweat and beer and smoke and she gently pushes him off but his smile is brighter than ever and the stars in his eyes aren't burning out, they are  _on fire_.

and yes, maybe she has sworn to herself that she's only going to check out the party because she's curious and dance with flynn and not the boy with stars in his eyes, because. and maybe she didn't plan on even talking with him at all, only planned to watch him from afar. out of reach of the soft skin littered with too many stories and the sharp edges ripping painfully into the softest fabric.

but then he's tugging her hand impatiently like a child on its first trip to the zoo and the love seat is just comfortable enough to cushion his  _edges_  with  _pliant pillows_  and  _warm hands_  and then they are talking quiet whispers and drunken slurs. it is "i don't like flynn" and "i've always wanted to see a shooting star" and "don't turn around now, harry's lost his trousers again".

it's everything and nothing, laughter falling like rain, eyes lightening up in the dim light. and. she watches him, watches his  _edges_  sharpen as he snaps at harry to put some clothes on. watches his fingertips nervously tapping against the armrest as she draws a small pentagram onto his left arm. watches the stars in his eyes  _falling_  and  _falling_  and  _falling_  as she traces the ink on his warm skin.

she thinks he's the most beautiful shooting star she has ever seen.


	6. .first cigarette.

she burrows her hands deeper inside her pockets, her body instinctively shying away from the crisp winter air. he smiles like she's being silly and when he pulls a cigarette out from behind his ear his hands are steady and calm even though she can see the thin shirt he is wearing through the rips in his battered leather jacket.

 _it's such a cliché_ , she thinks, hugging her arms a little closer to her body. he opens his arms in a silent offer but she wrinkles her nose at the thin veil of smoke that surrounds him like a protective mother's embrace as he breathes fumes and flicking ashes and glowing tips.  _we both are_.

he is rolls his eyes at her like he is reading her mind and twists his body half-way around to hand harry the lighter back without turning his back on her and she watches the slight twitch of his thin lips, watches  _edges_  blur into  _softness_.

still. when he flicks the unfinished cigarette carelessly onto the ground after only taking two deep drags she is surprised. and when he pulls her into his side,  _warm_  and  _close_  and  _strong_ , without once faltering in his heated description of a football game from last weekend that she really doesn't care about she wonders if maybe not every star is destined to fall.


	7. .first date.

it's all  _sketches scattered across the wall_  and  _too clean smelling air_  and  _the soothing buzz of rhythmic machines_. she frowns in confusion, looks up at the boy by her side who looks so  _alight_  she almost averts her eyes again. almost doesn't bother to question him.

"you brought me to a tattoo studio?"

"not just any tattoo studio" he gasps in mock offence, looking truly shocked, maybe even insulted, and she laughs breathlessly because  _louis_. "the tattoo studio where i work." he looks so proud, so expectant and she knows she is missing something.

she watches him, studies his  _flickering eyes_  and  _dancing fingers_ , the black ink contrasting stronger with his pale skin than ever before.

"you said you feel like you don't really know me. so i thought i'd show you the place i basically live in when i'm not passed out on my desk or snoring through a lecture."

he is joking again, or maybe he isn't, but she laughs anyway. she spends the afternoon looking at different designs and listening to stories about the funniest and strangest tattoos he has ever seen and skimming through the out-of-date magazines in the waiting room and not drinking the cheap coffee he calls the most disgusting substance in the entire city like it is a title to be proud of and she can't seem to stop smiling at all and it's.

it's perfect, is the thing.


	8. .first confession.

"i don't really apologise. ever." he is playing with a lighter again, flicking it on and off and on. it's a different one from the last time, she notices, and it makes her curious how many of those he owns. if he even owns them or just 'borrows' them when harry isn't looking. he seems like the type to do that.

"why not?" she covers his hand with her own because it seems like a good idea and the clicking sound is really starting to grant on her nerves. also it feels kinda nice. his fingers still and the flame disappears again.

he smirks but there's an almost see-through mist of sadness curling around the corners of his lips.

"i suck at it."

and she laughs because she doesn't want to believe him but she does.

"i don't really trust people. not fully." she admits after a moment of unhurried silence. there is a memory of a grinning boy hidden in those words, of police uniforms and the constant clicking sound of long fake nails on a keyboard. "because usually they mess up eventually and even if i  _say_  i forgive them that's not really true. i don't think you can have the same trust in someone after that person has already broken it. maybe you can repair it but it's not the same. there's never really a second chance."

and she knows she should look at him now, should read his eyes because then she will  _know_  for sure but she doesn't. she is afraid of what she is going to find.

"is this a warning?" he asks teasingly, lightens the mood with an unforced ease she envies.

and. "no."

maybe.


	9. .first confrontation.

they are sharing a table in a small coffee shop closest to the college because she has another lecture soon and he needs to work all afternoon. he is  _tapping fingertips on the wooden table_  and  _loud conversations in a too light voice_  and she is  _lukewarm cappuccino with too much sugar_  and _the scratching of pencils against blank paper_.

then suddenly there is flynn who is  _all-knowing eyes_  and  _hidden meaning in simple questions_.

"you have an interesting taste in girlfriends" flynn states like he doesn't even know her. there is no bitterness in his words, no angry insults and she doesn't know why they make her pause anyway.

she slowly lowers her pencil and watches louis. watches the way the shooting stars in his eyes burn out and his lips twist into a smile she recognises as  _sincere_  even as she recoils at the blatant threat his very presence seems to radiate. a black hole of all he is when the stars don't light up his eyes.

he laughs like flynn has made a joke of some kind. a harsh laugh that is more than  _edges_ , more than  _sharp_ , because it's. it's  _shattering glass_ , is what it is.

when the door closes with a soft tingling sound behind flynn she watches as his features slowly soften again, watches his smile turn  _gentle_  and  _comforting_ and  _blurry_. but she still sees the debris on the ground he hasn't bothered to sweep up and she's not sure if he pretends not to notice them or if he simply doesn't care.

she isn't sure if she pretends not to notice them or if she simply doesn't care.


	10. .first lie.

"how do you know flynn?" she asks and doesn't even know why. doesn't know why she cares or if she maybe cares too much.

he shrugs. his gaze is fixed on something she can't see, something far beyond  _sky_  and  _stars_ and  _her_. "ran into him at a party a while ago."

there is a slight cease between his eyebrows and it's neither sharp nor soft but it looks like  _evasion_  or maybe  _secret_. she blinks and then it is gone, overshadowed by bright stars and warm smiles. and she almost forgets. except there is a bitter aftertaste on her tongue and it  _lingers_. and she doesn't forget.

she isn't made to forget.


	11. .first coffee.

he flops down onto his favourite seat like his body is lacking the strength to keep him standing even a second longer. his face is colourless and drawn, reminding her of the waitress' bleached hair and carelessly crumbled paper.

she gently slides a fresh cup of coffee across the table. the scratching noise makes her wince but is eyelids barely twitch. there's a moment of silence as she opens her mouth to ask. to ask all those questions she can't keep to herself, all those swirling, confusing thoughts mixed up into a big mess of a cookie dough that she isn't sure yet she's going to like the taste of.

what did you tell your friends about me. why do you smoke. what does the tattoo on your left wrist mean. why don't you like flynn. why did you talk to me that day in the food court. why are you so tired. do you know you have shooting stars in your eyes.

the harsh neon light colours him in  _jagged edges_  and  _burnt remains_  and she doesn't ask anything at all.


	12. .first clean up.

they have a dishwasher but she likes the calming motions of cleaning everything by hand. he is leaning against a cupboard, long legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. she can feel his gaze on her. it feels heavy, like a thick blanket wrapped all over her body and she doesn't know if she likes the warmth it offers or if it makes her feel caged, makes it too hot to breathe.

she doesn't seem to know a lot of things.

a glass slips from her fingers without her even noticing until it is too late. out of the corner of her eyes she sees his hands twitch like he reflexively wants to reach out and catch it but holds himself back at the same time.

the glass shatters.


	13. .first doubt.

"flynn told me you and he used to be rivals when you were in primary school."

they are sitting in her living room. he sprawled across her couch like he belongs there. she curled into his side like she wants to him to protect her from the world. like she wants to protect the world from him.

"hmm." he answers without saying anything like he always does when he doesn't feel like talking.

she wants to let it go. wants to let everything go, to drift and float without holding on anymore, but. she isn't sure if he is going to hold on to  _her_ is the thing. isn't sure if he is going to keep her from drowning. and it scares her.

"was that why you kept asking me out?" there is a slight quiver in her voice and his hands falters for a second before they continue to absently play with her hair like it's the most fascinating thing he has ever seen. [it's  _not_  because his hair catches sunlight and he has shooting stars in his eyes but she doesn't tell him that.]

he frowns down at her, thin lines of  _worry_  and  _calculation_ , written in numbers she doesn't dare to add up. "not everybody wants to hurt you, lydia" he finally tells her, his voice two shades softer than an unspoken  _I love you_. and as his arms tighten around her she wonders how he can hold her so close without cutting her down to the bone with the jagged edges of  _everything_  he is.

"but no."

and maybe he doesn't. maybe she is just too blinded to notice the wounds.


	14. .first admission.

"i love you."

he looks  _exhausted_  and  _sharp_  and  _lost in thought_  and his words are the only thing soft about him in this moment, when he gently whispers them into the skin just above her collarbone like they are a secret he isn't willing to share with anyone.

she searches his eyes for the glowing shooting stars that shine too bright and burn too fast. and.

"i believe you."

 


	15. .first blunder.

she is sitting in her usual spot in her favourite café, watching the people passing by through the window. watching the little girl two tables to her left throwing her cookie all over the table. watching the clock. watching the entrance.

she waits for two hours.

he doesn't come.


	16. .first apology.

it is not like he is trying to hurt her, she knows. it is not like it happened on purpose. there has just been a lot going on in their lives lately and he didn't mean to forget. it is not like the stars in his eyes are dying.

it is _not_.

"i'm sorry, babe" he says, cool eyes glinting like snow in the early morning light, streaked by the shadows of the fading darkness. and it's all he says, all he knows to say because he sucks at apologising and she knows it. she understands.

"forgive me?"

she sends him a smile that feels softer then fresh grass under bare feet and opens the door fully, pulls him inside with a gentle kiss that tastes like honey and tears, because. she doesn't forget, doesn't know how to and she isn't sure he knows that. isn't sure he  _understands_.

she doesn't answer.


	17. .first present.

"i thought you were going to quit." she watches the smoke shadowing his fingers like it is drawn to him and not the other way around.

he rolls his eyes but it's different. there's no  _softness_ , only  _edge_ and she averts her gaze so she won't have to see the smile that is too sharp and cuts too deep.

"i will."

she buys him a lighter for his birthday.


	18. .first truth.

the truth is they aren't  _shooting stars_  and  _edges_  and  _bright colours in a black and white world_. those are just pretty expressions. metaphorical pictures that don't quite fit. high aspirations they can never seem to match.

because in the end they are glass,  _thin_  and  _fragile_  and  _beautiful_  in everything they do, slipping from tired hands after a demanding day.

she doesn't even notice until it is too late. his hands twitch like he reflexively wants to reach out and catch  _them_  but holds himself back at the same time.

and.

they shatter.


	19. .first argument.

"you promised me you would stop!"

"god, will you just stop with the fucking nagging?"

"when did you become such an asshole?"

"when did you become such a bitch?"

"flynn was right, i should have never went out with you! this was a mistake."

"well i never would have asked you out if flynn didn't have that fucking crush on you anyway!"

"you don't love me."

"you don't trust me."


	20. .first slip.

it is three o'clock in the morning and he keeps ringing the door bell. he does it twice more even after she finally opens the door and she is not sure if he is too drunk to notice or does not know what to say. his eyes are  _tired_  and  _red_  and  _drawn out_  and his hands tremble.

"i'm sorry."

he smells of  _smoke_  and  _beer_  and  _fresh_   _tears_.

"i'm so fucking sorry. for what i said. i wasn't- i didn't mean it. i was just so angry and i wanted to hurt you and i hated it. and i know i fucked up, i always fuck up and i'm drunk and this probably doesn't make any sense but there was this girl and she was really pretty and i kissed her but it was all wrong. it was so fucking wrong, lyd. so i pushed her away and i'm just-i came here. and i don't know what to say because- fuck. i'm sorry."

there are no stars in his eyes that she can see anymore.


	21. .first goodbye.

"lydia" he says and it is a plea for everything he has never said because he doesn't know how to. it is an apology, a question, a desperate attempt to  _hold on_. but he doesn't reach out, makes no move to touch her and cling to her and  _it matters_. "i  _love_  you."

she looks at him, tears streaming down her face because she sees stars burning out in his eyes and she  _knows_.

"i believe you."

and it is a an apology for everything she can't forget, for every second chance she can't give because she isn't  _made_  to forgive.

she closes the door.

he doesn't stop her.


	22. .epilogue: second.

* * *

**.i.**

* * *

 

he watches her from across the room. she sips on a drink he knows she doesn't like, her face void of any sign of discomfort. he has always been impressed by how well she holds herself together.

a guy walks up to her and there is something about his unhurried pace that says  _determined_  instead of  _confident_ ,  _hopeful_ instead of  _arrogant_. it is enough to make him despise the male with every fibre of his being.

"hi"

he recognises the guy, has shared a design class with him a couple of months ago and maybe a blunt on a party every once in a while. his name is zayn malik and his grin is coloured in the same shade of sunshine her's always was. he wishes he could say that zayn is nothing but a good-looking bastard but that would be a lie and it makes the alcohol  _burn_  all the way down his throat.

he watches as she lifts her head to study him like she always does. watches her gaze flicker to the exposed tattoos on zayn's bare arms and collar. watches her take in the short black hair and patient smile. watches her lips twitch into a welcoming smile.

"hi"

he wonders.

* * *

**.ii.**

* * *

 

he sees them out in a club a couple of months later. he watches her watch zayn. watches her observe zayn. watches her judge zayn. watches zayn stare back unafraid. with nothing to hide.

he watches zayn look at the dancing women around them like they are beautiful. he watches zayn look at her like she is the north star- _constant_  and  _stable_  and  _here_ -leading him through a wide, beautiful world he admires but doesn't care to understand.

he leaves.

* * *

**.iii.**

* * *

 

_"hi"_

_a boy not yet ready to make room in his world for anyone else._

_"bye"_

_a girl unwilling to put her life on hold for anyone._

he stares at the small pentagram on his left arm and wonders how she _knew_.

 

**.the end.**


End file.
